Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By TC TolbertIn someone else’s home, 2018 February 08,
you are sitting in front of a considerable yellow mirror. Carved
into the frame of the mirror are flowers, the leaves
of which, were they solo, could be mistaken for thumb
-nails lined up at a salon waiting for the arrival of the hands
to which they should be attached. There are fish underwater
above you trying to tell the night what is coming.
By Justice Ameereven ants go to war.
been thinking about it all summer, what it means…
i mean how human. or maybe how ant.
maybe nature begets violence because we all gotta eat.
By Vickie VértizThe men inside the Pep Boys wear blue work shirts. Fingerprints on the hems. That’s
how I’m going to be: my hands with grease that won’t wash off. Like Apá buying Freon.
Fenders. My sister sniffs the little trees, outlines the posing girls with her eyes. We buy
peanuts and their candy turns our palms to red
By Saretta MorganMore than a decade after being sentenced I share the news with my mom.
By Rio CortezJust as close to living as you are to disappearing knowing
my limits you locate the tender spots without.
By Tala Khanmalekunbound pages carry my inheritance from Baba
a strategy to get around the system, like Baba
By Liv MammoneThe train is a creature that moves like water.
It has no eyes, only a sharp
mouth that closes on those too slow.
By David James "DJ" SavareseThe ear that hears the cardinal
hears in red;
the eye that spots the salmon
By Leigh SugarI knew it was something bodies could do, disobey –
a girl a grade above had died that fall
of the cancer I was being tested for in winter,